


and I know that you care for me too

by KaylaNorail



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Skyfall - Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: (but that comes later), (not sort of), (sort of), Action/Adventure, Agent!Thor, Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen, Malekith doesn't want to bring THE DARKNESS, Norse Bro Feels, Quartermaster!Loki, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Violence, but still is a shady guy, writing about stuff I have no idea about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaylaNorail/pseuds/KaylaNorail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn't given an order but went on a mission anyway, only for it to go not exactly as planned. And when in trouble, there's one person Double-O-Nine can rely on: his Quartermaster.</p><p>However, when you're working for MI6, things can very easily go from bad to worse in a most unexpected way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and I know that you care for me too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyCharity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCharity/gifts), [bartonbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bartonbones/gifts).



> SO. It's me again, shamelessly using other people's ideas again, being melodramatic again and probably getting lots and lots things just plain wrong again. I'm a bad person, I know.
> 
>  _But then what am I supposed to do when I see people on tumblr come up with a great idea and then then just leave it be well I'm sorry but my badger senses are tingling urge to write a thing rises aaahhhh_  
> 
> So basically I saw [LadyCharity](archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCharity/) _(flippin' again)_ and [Timelordanon](archiveofourown.org/users/Timelordanon/) coming up with a Thor MI6!AU and even _a plot for this AU_ on tumblr and then—
> 
> Well, and then _nothing._
> 
> So yup, I'm probably the last person who should've taken care of that, but well, sorry, it just happened. And I have no idea how something that was supposed to be a _drabble_ suddenly grew to over _10k words_. And I still had to cut some of the ideas out because I'm a moron and simply wasn't sure how to fit them in. Sorry.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I have no idea how MI6 works, I have no idea how regular police works either, I also have no idea how being a technological genius works, I have never been at some landmarks appearing in the text (well, I was just outside one, but that doesn't really count, I think) so I'm basically making everything about it up with scraps of info I found with the help of my beloved Uncle Google, I have no idea how firearms work, I have no idea how human body works and I have no idea about more or less everything else. I can make noodles, though, but I don't think it's relevant now.
> 
> So enjoy. Or not. Probably the latter.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry.

_“Come on, Loki, go out and play.”_

_“Hurry up, Loki, can’t you keep up?”_

_“Look at your brother, Loki. You could follow his example.”_

_“Loki, you cannot spend your whole life with your eyes glued to the screen.”_

_“This won’t really get you anywhere, Loki.”_

_“And what about you, Loki, brother, hm? Still playing with your mechanical toys instead of, you know, finding some useful job?”_

_“Loki, just think of it. Thor is out there on some secret mission I know next to nothing about, risking his life for our country, for us all—and you’re doing what? Playing with your machines, as always.”_

_“Loki, you’re talking nonsense. You’re getting it all wrong. It’s not like that.”_

_“Blood ties have nothing to do with this. You are as much of my son as Thor is, Loki. And I’m not playing favourites. I’m just saying you’re making a bad decision.”_

_“Loki, why can’t you just listen?”_

_“And how exactly do you want to achieve that? How do you want to prove it to me, Loki?”_

_“No, Loki.”_

* * *

 

“This is _not_ what I wanted to start this day with.” Loki plugged yet another cable to his computer. It was the last one—fortunately, for he had just run out of sockets.

“Well then, you’re going to have an unexpectedly exciting morning.” Thor’s voice laughed quietly in Loki’s headphones.

“Some people wouldn’t even call it morning. It’s still dark. You’re lucky I wasn’t asleep already or I’d have certainly told you to piss off. Besides, I shouldn’t really be helping you with this, anyway.” Loki’s fingers darted to the keyboard and the mouse, double-checking a whole arsenal of the best software known (and unknown) to humanity, most of them being either Loki’s own creations or things he’d personally modified. They were all sorts of things, from firewall through encrypting and proxy-altering programs, to sophisticated digital constructs capable of performing tasks a layperson probably wouldn’t even be able to name.

“But you’re going to help me, right?” Thor asked.

“Yes, yes.” Loki moved on to the tracking program, which immediately started searching for Thor’s whereabouts. “You’ve created quite a mess and if there’s anyone who can get you out of this, it’s only me…”

“Thanks, brother.”

“You pronounced ‘Q’ wrong.”

“No, I pronounced ‘brother’ right.”

Loki gave an exasperated huff. “Double-O-Nine, how many times do I have to remind you? Our present relationship is purely professional and it should stay that way.”

MI6 wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of two family members working together for fear that one day personal attachment could interfere with the objectives of the designated mission. It had taken a great deal of promising the higher-ups it wasn’t going to happen, ensuring them that he could control himself and think clearly even under pressure, bringing up the fact that Loki hadn’t been talking to any members of his family for over a year and considered himself pretty much estranged, reminding that he and Thor probably wouldn’t cooperate directly with each other too much, and, last but not least, showing his future employers what he was capable of. In the end, he had turned out to be too valuable not to get hired—valuable enough to get promoted to head of Q Branch after just a few weeks.

Of course Thor, being Thor, hadn’t been entirely professional about the matter. He was over the moon when he heard of his new Quartermaster and took it as a sign of the forthcoming reconciliation, but upon their first meeting at the MI6 headquarters Loki, having broken free from Thor’s bone-crushing hug, kept steering away from the subject. He was polite but cold, and not once did he call Thor by his first name, sticking firmly to his alias. He did warm up slightly over time, but still seemed to regard Thor more as a colleague rather than a family member. Not that it stopped Thor from treating Loki in a way that the latter, annoyed to no end, called “grievously unprofessional”. Thor, however, preferred the word “brotherly”.

It had also caused the higher-ups to voice their concern about the possible effect it could have on Thor’s efficiency, but eventually they came to a conclusion that it was probably insignificant or maybe even nonexistent. Thor was an agent. Thor was out in the field. Thor was the one in constant danger. Thor didn’t have to worry about Loki, who was usually working in the relative safety of the MI6 main building. And Loki kept insisting that his worry for Thor never exceeded the ‘just-don’t-screw-up-this-important-assignment-you-dolt-and-better-don’t-die-because-you’re-one-of-our-best' level.

In the end, just as Loki had anticipated, they hadn’t even worked together too often, their interactions usually limited to Loki handing Thor another piece of equipment and explaining what to do and what _not_ to do with it. There were, however, times when they needed to join their forces in a more direct way, but it proved to work out just fine, with Thor out in the open and Loki being a voice in the earpiece, providing all the vital advice he could produce with all the technological wonders at his disposal. And sometimes ending up shouting and swearing and chastising Thor more than necessary—to which Thor would more often than not respond in kind, resulting in their communication becoming dangerously banter-like—but as long as it didn’t interfere with the mission itself, nobody would really be bothered.

Loki could hear Thor chuckle. “And this professional relationship is why you’re helping me do something really stupid, which requires breaking a bazillion of laws and regulations?”

“Yes,” Loki snapped, “because this actually _can_ work if I help you. Still, I have to say that what you’re doing is completely irresponsible and if you fail, you’ll either end up dead or fired, and if it happens—”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a killjoy—”

“A _killjoy?_ Double-O-Nine, this is a _very serious matter of international importance,_ so I’d like you to have an appropriate approach to it. Though I’m probably too late, seeing as you’re doing the thing already even though you haven’t been given a direct order…”

“Before they had issued one, the data would’ve probably gone abroad.”

“Right, I get it, it’s your duty, and you had to do it for Queen and Country, and for the sake of all those poor citizens ignorant of our strife. Never mind. We’ve got other things to take care of—wait.” Loki squinted at the screen. “Double-O-Nine, is the tracking system malfunctioning or _are you really in the Palace of Westminster?_ ”

“I am.”

Never before Loki wanted to strangle a voice in his headphones so much. “ _What are you doing there?!_ ”

“Sightseeing. What do you _think?_ ”

“You haven’t told me it was hidden _there!_ How did you even manage to get in?!”

“Had to be a bit violent, but the body count is so far zero.”

“Now that's good news,” Loki muttered. Thor might have been granted the infamous licence to kill, but that probably didn’t apply when he was acting without any official authorisation. He had a lot to explain to the higher-ups already. Fortunately, despite having that lethal privilege, Thor rarely resorted to using it.

“Only that now I need to leave, but they seem to know I’m here and I _can’t_ leave, so save further questions for later and _do something about that_.”

Loki’s open palm met his face. “You are impossible. You’re an utter moron, a complete _idiot,_ a—”

“Could you maybe badmouth me later?”

“No.” Loki’s fingers again pressed the relevant keys with the usual trained speed and accuracy, his eyes still fixed on the screen as he opened a couple of new windows. “I’m going to continue while I’ll try to bypass the security system. So, you’re a dumb, reckless child and an overconfident imbecile, and whoever thought you deserved to be an agent, let alone one with a Double-O designation, is an even worse dimwit and should get demoted or fired along with—”

There was a sudden _THUD_ in Loki’s headphones and he froze; the next thing he heard was a series of more thuds and punches and grunts, then someone wheezing, and then panting.

“Double-O-Nine?” Loki asked apprehensively. “Double-O-Nine, do you copy?”

“Yeah, I do.” Thor’s voice sounded a little bit strained. “Had to knock a guard out, but I’m fine. He’s… almost. So hurry up.”

“I’m doing what I can.”

“You’re usually faster than this.”

“I’m usually working with the machines in the office and sadly, I have to admit that they’re still superior to my personal equipment, splendid as it may be. So don’t whine and be patient.”

A few clicks later a bell rang out frenziedly in the Palace.

“What have you done?!” Thor shouted over the noise.

“Sounded the alarm.” Loki went back to the tracking program. “Now when everybody is busy going to the rally points and discovering that nothing has happened, you will do as I say.”

“I could’ve done it myself, you know, by simply _setting something on fire._ ”

“You could, but you didn’t; you’re welcome. Now, there’s a door to your left. See if anyone’s behind it.”

“Can’t you do it?”

“Not yet; I’m just about to tap into the surveillance cameras.” More clicks, another window opening, even more clicks. “Go to the door and if there’s no one there, turn right and— _I said: a door to your left!_ ”

“This _is_ my left!”

“Well, you’re just a red dot on my screen and I have no way of telling which part of it is your face and which is your backside. Anyway, go to the other door.”

The ringing got slightly louder.

“Clear.”

“Go right. Yes, that’s the correct right. Continue until I tell you to stop.”

“I just hope that the checkpoint isn’t too far away… I can’t even hear if someone’s coming because of that bell.”

“Let’s say it’s relative. Now, turn left.”

“… _Shoot!_ ”

Loki stiffened; even with all the noise caused by the bell, he could still hear the sound of a gunshot. The Thor-dot on the screen immediately began to move in the direction opposite to the desired one.

“Double-O-Nine, what’s happening?” Loki asked.

“Security!” Thor panted. “Just tried to shoot me!”

Loki swore under his breath. If they really were just the security, they wouldn’t simply shoot on sight.

_Malekith’s people._

“Don’t engage them! Find the nearest open room and hide before they see you!” Loki almost shouted, checking if he could somehow crack the armour shielding the Parliament surveillance system slightly faster. “Once you do, lock the door or, if you can’t, barricade it somehow.”

The ringing became a bit muted again. Thor was panting and something heavy was being moved and then put down.

“I think I’ve made it…”

“Good.” Loki smirked, finally able to see through the eyes of the cameras. “Now, jump out of the window.”

“…What.”

“Jump. Now.”

“Do you know which floor it is?!”

“Stupid question, of course I do! Now trust me and jump before—”

A slightly muted gunshot. A sound of splintering wood. No screams or other noises of pain, but Loki’s heart rate skyrocketed.

“Jump, Thor, _now!_ ”

Loki heard two more gunshots before a sound of shattering glass drowned out everything else. Then, after a thud and a hollow rattle of metal, silence followed, marred only by the sound of the fire alarm bell and Thor’s quick breathing. Loki looked at the screen, but Thor was apparently out of the nearest camera’s range.

“Double-O-Nine?”

No answer.

“Double-O-Nine, are you okay?”

_Please, say that you are, you idiot, please, be okay—_

“You—you _jerk!_ ” Thor finally snarled, clearly more annoyed than actually distressed, and Loki sighed with relief. “You _couldn’t_ tell me there was a _scaffolding,_ could you?!”

“And you _certainly_ haven’t noticed it upon your arrival? Or by, you know, looking through the window? They’ve been renovating the place for some time now. Right, get down and… You _have_ come by car, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.” Heavy footsteps and more rattling metal. “What about those guys?”

“I can see them now. They gave up on opening your door and went for the next one. Hurry up. Stay away from New Place Yard, that’s a rally point. Where’s your car?”

“Derby Gate.”

“Then just get down and over the fence. There’s nobody in Speaker’s Green, but you may still get noticed. Once you get onto the bridge, just run for Derby Gate—”

He heard another gunshot just before he noticed on his screen two men wearing security uniforms also standing on the scaffolding, pointing their weapons at Thor.

“So you _did_ get noticed,” Loki hissed, trying to tame the dread rising inside him again. “Simply avoid getting shot and just do as I—”

The metallic rattle got way noisier and more violent, followed by a cacophony of lots of heavy things failing to defy the laws of gravity; an unfamiliar voice screamed in the distance as Loki saw the scaffolding collapse and its parts fall down to the ground, together with the shooters.

“And _how_ is _that_ going to help you slip past unnoticed?!” Loki growled, annoyance pushing his dread aside, as the cameras showed him Thor rushing towards the fence.

“Well, it’s definitely going to help me not get shot!” Thor responded. “Can you tell me how are they?”

Loki’s eyes switched to the image of the two hostile agents, barely visible among the pile of wood, metal and all and other not quite identifiable parts of the ex-scaffolding. “At least one’s alive, but not quite able to pursue you, not with what looks like a broken leg. The other guy doesn’t move at all. It’s safe to assume they won’t bother you for a while.”

“Great.” Thor made it to the fence and started to climb it. “Anyone else I should watch out for?”

“Doesn’t seem so. Just get out of there, find your car and off you go to the headquarters. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to watch your back for too long now; you’re leaving the Palace grounds and it would take a while until—”

He paused. There was a noise that seemed not to be coming out of his headphones.

“Loki?” Thor asked.

“Don’t talk to me for a while and just keep going.”

“Is something—”

“Be _quiet._ ”

He turned the volume down a bit and his suspicions were confirmed: there was someone outside his house, trying to force the door open—judging by the sound, by kicking it down.

They couldn’t be burglars. Burglars wouldn’t make so much noise. Neither would anyone from MI6, if they discovered what he was just doing and decided to send someone to stop him.

Loki’s blood ran cold.

_Impossible._

_Impossible, could it be…_

“Double-O-Nine,” he said in a hushed tone, “sorry, but from now on you’re on your own.”

“What? Loki, what’s happening?”

“Just do as I said. Go straight to Vauxhall Cross, no matter what.”

“Tell me what—”

He disconnected just as he heard the door give in and several people hurried inside. Loki hastily unplugged the power cord, shutting down his computer in an instant—screw the basic guidelines, he wasn’t going to risk the machine still running while _they_ had the access to it. His hand then reached to the top drawer of his desk, opening it and grabbing a switchblade—not a part of the standard equipment of the Quartermaster, and very likely not quite a legal thing to possess either, but he preferred to have one just in case he needed it. For example right now.

The door to his room burst open and he turned around, knife in his hand.

 

* * *

 

The abrupt disconnection had been enough to make Thor seriously worried. The five unanswered calls he had made as soon as he got to the car only made it worse. There was no way he was going to the headquarters now. Loki certainly wouldn’t approve, but Thor couldn’t care about his approval less at the moment. The same went for the traffic regulations as he speeded through the streets of London—almost completely empty, bless the hour—in order to get to Loki’s lodgings in Southwark as soon as possible. He hadn’t been in that place before (Loki had not made an invitation and Thor decided not to be too intrusive at least in this respect), but he knew the address and more or less knew how to get there.

When his phone suddenly rang, he almost hit a pillar box. He answered immediately. “Loki, what happened?”

“First of all, it’s me,” the voice in his earpiece said and Thor recognized his colleague, Double-O-Eleven, though he preferred—with her permission—just to call her Sif. “Second of all… it’s actually about him, how did you know—”

“What about him, Sif?”

“A few minutes ago the police received a call. Something going on in Loki’s house. Apparently there were gunshots and—”

“ _What?!_ ” Thor paled. “What about Loki, is he—”

“I don’t know anything else. They dispatched a team and we’re sending someone too. I’ll let you know when I learn more.”

“There’s no need. I’m already on my way there.”

“Right… As you wish, but better don’t say I told you. I’m not sure if they want you to know yet. Speaking of which, why did you think I was Loki? Is there something we should know?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Thor, does it have anything to do with the Aether Project? Did Loki—”

“I said: later. Thank you, Sif. Bye.”

Thor hung up before she could respond.

 

* * *

 

Nobody from MI6 had arrived yet by the time Thor got there. The police, however, had, and there was something deeply ominous about the sight of several cars parked outside Loki’s house, their emergency lights flashing, and the barricade tape blocking off what undoubtedly was now considered a crime scene. Thor quickly got out of the car and rushed towards the door, only to be stopped by the policemen, but as soon as he explained and proved that he was working for MI6 and _had_ to get inside, they let him in, but only accompanied by an officer, and noting that MI6 or not, he was not to touch or contaminate anything.

Loki’s home was small, like all the other terraced houses in the street. The ground floor consisted only of a tiny passage way, a living room—though with all its contents it looked more like a study—a kitchen and a bathroom. There were two more rooms upstairs, one of them a bedroom, the other housing a couple of computers, miles of cords and cables, and other things, like individual parts, pages filled with notes, and more books, all of which, knowing Loki, had been neatly arranged in their designated places not so long before. Now the place was in a state of disarray, books and loose sheets of paper scattered on the floor, a chair lying broken by the desk, a computer screen knocked over. Two forensics technicians in the room were carefully placing the evidence markers around and taking pictures of the scene.

Thor stopped in the doorway, not quite because he didn’t want to interfere with their duties, but rather because he could hardly make a step forward as he saw red traces on the floor and the walls, ranging from small spots to larger stains, and a bloodstained switchblade. He looked back up at the wall, noticing a bullet hole, and clenched his fists, a mixture of terror and anger welling up inside him. Forensics was not exactly his area of speciality—his job consisted of dealing with the present, not the past—but he could patch up a rough scenario from the elements provided. Still, one vital piece was missing.

“Did you—did you find anyone here when you arrived?” he asked, barely able to keep his emotions from compromising his voice.

“We didn’t,” the policeman accompanying him said. “Of course, at this point we cannot determine what exactly has happened yet, but from what we see and what we know from the witnesses, we assume that the victim may still be alive.”

 _Not ‘may’; he_ is _alive,_ Thor thought, unwilling to take the other option into consideration until he had a definite proof—a proof he hoped he wouldn’t be facing anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter. Out loud, however, he only said, “And what was the witnesses’ testimony?”

“Not much, to be honest, though we’re still not done with them all. The neighbours say they heard either gunshots, screams or a general racket. The guy who called us said he’d peeked through the window, seen a van parked outside and then looked away as soon as he noticed somebody getting out of the house. Then he heard the van leave and phoned us.”

“So, it’s a kidnapping, then?” Thor tried to feel at least _slightly_ relieved by that notion. Kidnapped was still better than dead.

“Seems so. I’m sorry, but may I ask why you MI6 folk are interested in the case?”

“No, you may not,” Thor barked; seeing as he wasn’t even supposed to be here, he was the last person to disclose any confidential information to the police. Maybe an officially assigned agent would have the permission to share some facts, but—

Right. An officially assigned agent. Thor decided that maybe it was time for him to leave the place.

“Now excuse me, sir.” He went downstairs and outside, heading towards his car. The moment he opened the door, his phone rang again.

“Just in time, Sif,” he muttered to himself, as he was about to call her anyway, but when he saw the caller’s number, he almost dropped the phone in shock.

After a few seconds of staring at the screen in confusion, unsure if he wasn’t simply hallucinating out of worry, got into the car and answered. “Loki—Loki, are you okay? Where are you, I was at your place and—”

“Aren’t you quick, Double-O-Nine,” a deep, smooth voice spoke, definitely not Loki’s. “Or should I rather call you simply ‘Thor Odinson’?”

Thor’s fingers tightened on his phone. “Who are you,” he growled, “and what have you done with him?”

“Not much. I wouldn’t say he’s perfectly fine, but he should still make it… Of course, it may change if you choose not to cooperate.”

“I need to speak with him.”

“But of course. Here you go. Just don’t take too long.”

The caller murmured something, a crackle followed, and then—

“Thor—Thor, listen to me—”

It was Loki, it was definitely him, his voice raspy and shaky, his breathing laboured. But at least he was _alive_ and in that one moment nothing else mattered, and Thor, while still worried sick, allowed himself for a sigh of relief.

“No matter what,” Loki continued, “ _no matter what,_ just stay out of this and _don’t_ do anything they’ll ask you for—” Suddenly, he groaned in pain; a voice in the background said something inaudible.

“ _Loki!_ ” Thor shouted. “Loki, no—don’t antagonise them, stay calm, I’ll get you out of this, I swear—”

“No, _you will not!_ ” Loki snarled as if through clenched teeth. “D-do as you're told, get out of the road if you want to grow old.”

Thor twitched, his eyebrow rising in puzzlement. “Wha—Loki, are you alright?”

“Doesn’t matter, I just—” His breath hitched and he paused to catch it. “I don’t want you getting more involved than you already are. _Not you._ "

“Loki—”

“Just _listen to me, Thor!”_ Another pause for breath. “Listen, you—you know that I care what happens to you… and I know that you care for me too.”

Thor’s eyes widened; all of the sudden, he understood. At least he thought so, but he wouldn’t dare just ask. _Loki, are you trying to—_

“But don’t come for me,” Loki carried on, “and _don’t_ do their bidding, because if you think it’ll solve everything, you may as well hope that pigs might fly—”

And then he screamed, his cry shrill and lined with agony; the plastic casing of Thor’s phone threatened to crack as he gripped it even more tightly, a wave of fear and rage washing over him.

“No—Loki! _Loki!_ ” he yelled; the screaming ceased, turning into ragged breathing and stifled whimpers; a familiar crackle followed and Thor realized that Loki was no longer the one on the other side of the line. “Leave him alone or I’ll—”

“Or you what?” the voice that had first answered him asked. “Shout at us over the phone?”

Thor hit the dashboard with his fist in frustration. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want the memory stick. The one you stole from the Palace of Westminster not so long ago. And do not tell me you don’t have it. If you really headed off to your brother’s house right away, they you most probably didn’t have time to hand it over to anyone. And I doubt you would just dump such a precious thing somewhere. So here’s the deal: you bring us the data and we let your brother go, simple as that.”

 _Malekith,_ Thor thought. There was very little possibility that anyone in the area apart from him, a man with a history of dealing in obtaining secrets and selling them to people which were in no way entitled to know them, would be after the data on the Aether Project—whatever the project itself was. The agents involved in that case had only been told that it was ‘a matter of international security’ and that the data should’ve never fallen into the wrong hands—which it had, changing the agents’ objective to preventing it from falling into even worse, and bringing it back to the MI6 headquarters at Vauxhall Cross.

Thor sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. “Where?”

“I’ll be waiting at Monmouth Street, Covent Garden. Just outside the Crown. Come alone and don’t try to trick me. I won’t be bringing your brother with me, but once everything goes well, you’ll be told where to look for him.”

“And how can I know you’ll keep your part of the deal?”

“Honestly? You can’t. But I don’t think you have any other option than to trust me if you want your brother to live a bit longer.”

“Don’t you ever _try—_ ”

“You have thirty minutes from now on. Better don’t be late.”

As soon as Malekith spoke the last syllable, the connection was lost and Thor barely suppressed the urge to throw the phone at the windscreen or just _wreck_ something. But that had to wait. Right now, saving Loki was his priority.

Which, however, didn’t mean he was going to dance to Malekith tune.

 

* * *

 

Despite all their differences, there were a couple of things Thor and Loki had in common. They had both grown up on Beatrix Potter, Tolkien, and superhero comic books. They had both enjoyed horse riding back when they had had enough spare time to go to the countryside and spend most of their stay on horseback. They loved Pink Floyd to the point that if someone was to wake them up in the middle of the night and ask for the lyrics of a certain song, they would probably get them right and throw a bonus release date in.

That was why Thor recognized the lines immediately when Loki quoted them.

 _Do as you're told, get out of the road if you want to grow old_. ‘Sheep’.

 _You know that I care what happens to you, and I know that you care for me too._ ‘Pigs on the Wing’, part two.

And then the supposedly offhand remark about flying pigs. All pointing to the _Animals_ album, on the cover of which there was—

“Sif, I need your help.”

“What is it, Thor?”

“Listen, any time now Malekith should be on Monmouth Street, Covent Garden. I’d suggest sending a team within the next five minutes.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Sif asked, “Just— _how_ do you know this?”

“No time to explain, but if you want to finally get him, now’s the chance. And I’ll need another team and an ambulance at Battersea Power Station.”

“Thor, I can’t just make it happen, you have to _tell me_ what’s going on or they’ll never agree to it—it _does_ have something to do with the Aether Project in the end, does it?”

Thor groaned. “ _Fine,_ yes, it does!”

“Tell me you _haven’t_ done what I think you have done.” Sif’s voice became tinged with annoyed disbelief.

“I have. I acquired the data, I have it with me right now and I’m more than ready to face the consequences of acting without orders, but not just now.”

“And why is that?”

“ _Because Loki’s in danger!_ ” Thor snarled into the phone; immediately afterwards he took a deep breath, trying to calm down a little. “Sif, they—Malekith phoned me. That’s what happened at Loki’s place. They’ve taken him, and they’ll have him _killed_ if I don’t bring them the memory stick.”

“Oh goodness… Thor, just don’t do anything stupid and please, don’t tell me you’re going to do it, because—”

“Of course I’m not. That’s why I’m going to Battersea and not Covent Garden.”

“I’m not sure if I follow…”

“Malekith wants to meet me in Covent Garden, that’s why he’ll be waiting there. But Battersea is where they’re holding Loki; don’t ask me how I know that.”

“Ah… Right, I get it, but… are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“It’s the best one I’ve got. Just make sure they’ll send someone to apprehend him _and_ dispatch another team to Battersea.”

“Okay… I’ll do what I can. But I’ll probably end up telling M about you acting outside the line of duty.”

“Then _do it._ Do whatever you must.”

“I will, Thor. I will. But I’m asking for one thing in return.”

“And what would that be?”

“Please, be careful.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And when you get there, _wait,_ for pity’s sake, wait until the team arrives and don’t try to rescue him on your own—”

“No can do. I’m almost there and I don’t have enough time.”

“Wha— _are you crazy?!_ ”

“I told you: no time. Besides, I don’t even _know_ if they’re going to send anyone, so—”

“Why do you even ask for reinforcements if you’re just going to march in there alone?!”

“Just in case! I don’t think Loki’s well-guarded. They don’t know I’m coming for him, so they’re probably focused on protecting Malekith.”

“How can you be so sure they don’t know you’re coming?”

“Because they have no idea I know where Loki is.”

“Oh, for—I still don’t really understand everything you’re saying, but can’t you _really_ wait? I’ll try to get everything done as fast as I can—”

“It may not be enough. So thank you for your advice, Sif, but I don’t think I’ll follow it.”

“Thor—”

He ended the call, cutting her short. The power station was just ahead of him, but he decided not to drive too close to it; even if his predictions about most of Malekith’s men going to Covent Garden with him, Thor preferred not to risk anyone seeing a lonely car arriving at the site, and parked it on a nearby street.

Armed with a handgun in the holster at his hip and a small knife hidden in a sheath strapped to his forearm under his sleeve—the weapons that, thankfully, he hadn’t had to use back at the Palace, but could come in handy now—he walked toward the station silhouetted somewhat ominously against the slowly brightening sky. He kept looking around, but didn’t spot a soul; when he finally made it near the gate, he found it open and guarded by no one. He looked up; there were remains of a surveillance camera up on a nearby pole.

It seemed like an invitation and he didn’t like it at all.

Maybe he really should wait. After all, the MI6 headquarters were just a few minutes away, so if Sif managed to persuade the higher ups to send a rescue team fast enough—

 _If._ That was the problem. And there was no guarantee that anyone would come at all. Or if they wouldn’t just focus on capturing or killing the culprits, with no regards as to whether Loki survived or not—which was why Thor had actually had reservations about asking for help and waited until he’d been sure he would’ve been the first to arrive at Battersea before making the call. He knew of several cases in which they had ignored a hostage in favour of something else—and Thor could bet that for MI6 saving their own Quartermaster was a less important task than eliminating the threat of Malekith’s network. Maybe Loki was extraordinarily gifted and useful, but he wasn’t exactly irreplaceable. Not in the eyes of his employers, at least.

He reluctantly accepted the invitation and crossed the gate. Advancing towards the building, he surveyed his surroundings once more, again seeing no one. The absolute absence of anyone at all was so unnerving he almost wished somebody would jump at him from behind and just put an end to it. But as he strode forwards, he remained alone, bothered neither by Malekith’s people nor any security guards that _should_ be there, given that, for all he knew, it was private property. At least the lack of the latter was quite understandable, if not really comforting—if there had been any security before, they had been probably disposed of.

Thor approached the building and, with a growing sense of apprehension, stepped inside, gun in hands and finger on the trigger, looking for a potential target and finding none. But only now, looking at the enormity of the place and on the maze of steel stretching in front of him, he realized that finding Loki here could be quite difficult—and there was not much time left.

The thought hit him so suddenly and with such strength he opened his mouth, ready to call for Loki, but shut it before he made a sound. _Control yourself,_ Thor scolded himself mentally as he darted forwards, trying to be as fast and as silent as possible while still retaining his vigilance. _It’s mostly an open space, which makes you easier to notice… but it may also make_ you _notice_ them.

However, as he roamed that open space, climbing up and going down the stairs that creaked way too loudly when he set his foot upon them, he neither saw nor heard anyone—and it seemed that no one saw or heard him, which he would think reassuring in another situation. He managed only to stumble upon the black van the officer back at Loki’s place had mentioned, parked in the other empty hall, but he found nothing of significance inside it, except for more traces of blood in the back. Panic was starting to take over; he didn’t even want to check how much time he had left—if any.

 _There’s still time,_ he tried to convince himself. _There_ is. _Calm down. Think. If not open space, then_ enclosed _space. There_ has _to be some. Office, storage, a toilet, anything…_

And so he headed towards the more enclosed area of the station, his heart beating faster with every second passing unmercifully quickly; he eventually stopped caring about being silent and disregarded the old structure of the building responding to his every step. Descending onto the ground level, he was about to screw everything and try shouting for Loki anyway, when he suddenly heard a voice and he held his breath.

He couldn’t discern the words, but he could tell where it was coming from, more or less. As he drew closer, fingers tightly gripping the gun, he noticed a door left slightly ajar; the voice turned out to be two voices, and Thor finally heard what they were talking about.

“—hurts. Awfully. No way I’ll be able to use it as before. I’ll need to switch to the right one now.”

“Didn’t you once say you were ambivalent, something like that—”

“Ambi _dextrous._ Pretty much, but not for all the stuff. And I need both hands to shoot. I’ll get reassigned, that’s a given.”

“You sure you can’t get your hand patched up all right?”

“Maybe if Mal let me get proper medical attention right away, but now? And chances would’ve been slim anyway. I mean, that guy _sliced my hand almost in half._ I almost lost a finger or two. I don’t think it’s one of those things you can recover from completely.”

“You should have shot him first.”

“Told you, he was _quick._ And pretty vicious too. Didn’t see that coming from a nerd.” There was a pause. “Time’s almost up. That Odinson could hurry up a bit, I’d like to be done with it already…”

_As you wish._

He burst in, swinging the door open so violently it almost fell off its hinges. The two men in the small room stood up in surprise from the chairs they has been sitting on; one of them reached for his weapon, but before he could fire, Thor shot him in the knee. The man screamed and fell down, dropping his gun and clutching the wounded limb instead, while the other put his hands up—the left one was covered in bloodied bandages—in the air the moment Thor aimed at him, and backed away until his back touched the wall.

“I’m—I’m unarmed,” the man said as Thor advanced towards him. “And injured, so—”

Thor cut him short and lowered his weapon, only to grab the man by the collar and punch him in the face; the man’s head collided with the wall and, half-conscious and moaning, he crumpled to the floor, probably with a newly-acquired brain concussion. Thor then walked up to the first guy and kicked his gun away from him. “Tell me where your hostage is,” he snapped.

The man hesitated and finally muttered, “That door over there.”

Thor looked up and noticed another door on the opposite side of the room, blocked with a heavy-looking old desk. “If you’re lying to me—”

“I’m not. I—I swear, I’m not.”

Thor glared at him before picking up the man’s weapon and tucking it under his belt, and strode towards the door. The desk looked heavier than it really was, so he managed to move it away without much trouble; finally, he opened the door and his heart skipped a beat.

The room he saw was dark, so cramped that it would only take two paces to walk into the wall, and completely empty, save for Loki huddled in the corner, hands bound behind his back, tape wrapped around his mouth, his face white as a sheet except for a dark bruise on his cheek, blood staining his usually impeccable shirt and seeping through a dressing applied rather sloppily to his shoulder—and he appeared to be utterly _frightened._

Thor was by his side in a flash. “Loki—oh, Loki, brother, it’s okay, it’s fine now—” He holstered his gun and drew the knife from his sleeve. “Calm down, I’ve got you, Loki, it’s okay, just a moment…”

But Loki was apparently _not_ going to calm down. His eyes were still wide with terror, he was shaking his head and started to scream behind his gag; he even tried to kick Thor away, with little success.

“Loki, stop that, it’s okay now, stay still—” Thor cupped Loki’s face with one hand, carefully cut through the tape with the other and peeled it off as gently as he could. “It’s alright, it’s going to be over soon—”

“It’s a _trap,_ Thor!” Loki shouted as soon as his mouth was free. “Get away from here, _now, just go and—_ ”

A sound of several pairs of feet running echoed outside; Loki paused and looked up, Thor turned around, dropping the knife and again reaching for his gun.

The doorway was blocked by three men, all of them holding Thor at gunpoint.

“Drop your weapon,” the one in the middle ordered; there was something oddly familiar about him and Thor had a feeling he’d seen him before. Still, Thor had no intention to obey.

“ _Drop your weapon,_ ” the man repeated. “It doesn’t matter if you try to shield him. We can always shoot through you.”

Thor gritted his teeth and yielded, placing his gun on the floor.

“Now get up and hands on your head.”

Seething, he did as he’d been told. The men backed away slightly and motioned for him to come out; when he did, he saw the two he’d dealt with before, one slumped against the wall, rubbing the back of his head with his uninjured hand, the other sitting where Thor had left him, trying to dress his knee with his own jacket. But by the window there was yet another man, his skin almost as white as his plaited hair.

“I’m pleased to finally meet you in person, Double-O-Nine,” he said calmly; Thor recognized the voice immediately.

“Malekith, I presume?” he growled, while he was dragged a bit to the side and one of the men removed the gun he had tucked under his belt; another man entered the tiny room and Thor was about to voice his protest, but the only thing the man did was to retrieve Thor’s knife.

“You presume correctly. And I take it you probably recognize him as well?” Malekith pointed the familiar man. “He’s your fellow agent after all, although not a Double-O. Well, _was._ ”

“A mole?” Thor glared at his ‘fellow agent’. “You had a _spy_ at MI6?”

“Convenient, isn’t it. Before he retreated, he kept me up to date with your progress—or rather lack of it—and gave me some other no less interesting info. For example, on you two.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I knew you would’ve chosen coming after your brother instead of going to our meeting spot. Or rather, I guessed. And I was right. It was a risk, but rick a part of our occupation, after all. Also, it was nice of your brother to give you those hints. Got to admit they were much better than what we would’ve made him say.” He drew closer. “And now, the important business. Algrim, search him.”

Thor held still as the mole checked his pockets and found the stick in one of them.

“Thank you,” Malekith said as the stick was handed to him. “The question is, however, is this the _real_ thing, hm?”

“It is,” Thor replied, an idea appearing in his mind; maybe there was still a chance of drag the whole deal for a while longer so that some reinforcements would show up on time. “If you don’t believe me, you can check it.”

“I intend to. Algrim, bring my laptop from the van. And maybe take Hallur with you on your way so he can take care of his leg there.”

Algrim nodded; he then helped the man with the injured knee to get up and they both left without a word. Thor glanced at Loki, who was looking back at him with his eyes half-open and seemed to have turned even paler. The strength he had just a while before appeared to be now gone. He was breathing fast and trembling; his head was resting against the wall and he was apparently struggling to keep it from lolling to the side.

“At least dress his wound better,” Thor said. “Please. He’s going to bleed out.”

Malekith looked at him, then at Loki, then at Thor again. “So what?”

A shiver ran through Thor’s spine. “What do you—”

“Why should we bother if he’s going to die anyway?”

“ _No!_ ” Thor took a step forwards, but stopped in his tracks when one of the men behind him pressed the nozzle of his gun into the back of his neck. “You said you’d let him go once I—”

“And I also said you can’t trust me. But you may consider your brother lucky, as I don’t want him to die yet.”

Slightly puzzled, he watched as Malekith pocketed the memory stick, walked up to Loki and picked him off the floor by his injured arm; Loki winced and swallowed a cry of pain.

“ _Don’t you dare hurt him, you—_ ” Thor yelled, but before he could finish, Loki was shoved into the larger room and he stumbled before falling to his knees and bending double, panting and groaning.

“Serves you right,” the man with the injured hand grumbled, but no one heard him over Thor’s shouting.

“ _Touch him again,_ just _touch him,_ and—”

“And how am I supposed to take care of his wound without touching him?” Malekith asked.

“Hurt him further,” Thor growled, looking daggers at him, “and you’ll _regret this._ ”

“At this point, you’re more annoying than threatening. And better _stop annoying me._ Now then…”

Loki hissed when Malekith grabbed him by his hair and tugged, forcing him to straighten his back.

“Just so you know, both of you,” Malekith said, “I’m not doing you a favour. I do think there’s a possibility of me not getting what I want now. So if I the memory stick turns out to be a fake, the younger boy stays with me for a while longer while the big brother goes off to do his job _properly._ I wouldn’t like my hostage to die while he could still be a valuable asset.”

“And what h-happens when you g-get that s-s-stick?” Loki slurred; Thor wasn’t sure if he sounded more afraid or angry. “You’ll—you’ll just k-kill us both, won’t you?”

“To be honest… I haven’t decided yet. But as for now, I need you alive, so let’s take a look at you.” He let go of Loki’s hair and instead gripped his right shoulder—a bit too tightly, judging from a stifled whimper that escaped Loki’s throat. The man with the injured hand chuckled; Thor shot him a murderous glare.

Malekith leaned in, roughly yanking the bandages over Loki’s shoulder off, and eyed the injury. “Well, it _does_ look nasty. That cigarette probably didn’t help much either, did it? Some of the ash is still here…”

“That— _you did what?!_ ” Thor shouted, rage threatening to get the better of him, but his outburst was entirely ignored.

“Still, could be worse,” Malekith muttered. “The axillary artery seems undamaged and there’s no exit wound… Now listen,” he said to Loki, “it will be slightly better if I free your hands. But when I do, you won’t try anything, right? Though probably it’s not that you actually _could…_ ” Not waiting for an answer, Malekith gestured to one of the men behind Thor. “Give me the knife.”

Thor swallowed hard, watching as his knife was handed over to Malekith; he was almost ready to jump forwards, should anything undesirable happen, but Malekith only crouched behind Loki and cut the zip-tie binding his wrists. Loki’s right arm fell limply to his side, while he lifted the left one only so slightly, flexing his fingers and inhaling sharply.

“As I thought.” Malekith moved to Loki’s right side. “You can’t even move it, can you? Right then, we have to manage without a first aid kit now, but I guess we can just use—”

And then the impossible happened.

In a flash, Loki’s left hand shot toward Malekith and snatched the knife from his grasp; Loki ducked immediately, just in time to avoid getting shot by one of Malekith’s men who fired at him in surprise. Thor felt the pressure on his neck disappear and quickly took the chance. He turned back, elbowed the man behind him hard in the face and then wrestled the gun from his hands, shooting him in his chest in the process. His eyes darted to the one who’d just tried to shoot Loki, but, to Thor’s surprise, the man wasn’t much of a problem right now, convulsing on the floor, his hands pressed against a wound just beneath his collarbone.

_What—_

“No,” Thor heard the man with the injured hand say, fear evident in his voice, “are you kidding me—what the _—_ ”

When Thor once again looked at Loki, he’d have said more or less the same thing, were he not rendered speechless with shock.

Loki, his right arm still hanging uselessly, his left hand tightly gripping a bloodied knife, was standing, though barely, over Malekith, who seemed to have just fallen on the ground, a gash across his chest, a mousegun he must’ve pulled out of somewhere lying discarded beside him.

“Well, y-you were _wrong,_ ” Loki snarled, his gleaming eyes looking straight into Malekith’s wide open, fading ones. He then swayed, wincing and dropping the knife; Thor, having recovered from the shock, holstered the gun and dragged him slightly away. The man with the injured hand kept staring at the scene, mumbling something quietly, clearly too terrified to take any action. Malekith and the other two men weren’t moving anymore, either unconscious or already dead.

“Loki—Loki, you absolute idiot,” Thor muttered, pulling Loki into an embrace, “what have you done?”

“C-could you—could you _not_ hug me?” Loki rasped. “I’ve got a bullet in my sh-shoulder. It—it kind of _hurts._ ”

“Ah—right, sorry.” Thor released him, but Loki didn’t pull away, instead wrapping his good arm around Thor and clinging to him, and even though he might’ve done that just for getting some support, Thor couldn’t help but smile a little. “How—how did you even do that?” He carefully placed a hand on Loki’s back. “I thought you were about to black out, and you just—”

“I th-thought so too. Well, fortunately I—I managed not to b-black out.”

“But what you’ve done—where have you even learnt it—and—Loki, you just _killed two people—_ ”

“Oh, would you rather th-they’d killed us and—and taken that s-stupid stick?”

“You shouldn't have—”

“Says the m-man who just sh-shot someone in the chest—”

“I was being distressed, okay?! If it weren’t for that—”

“W-well, so was I.”

“And it was reckless to boot, you know, you were injured, you could have _died—_ just what were you thinking?!”

“What—what were _you_ thinking? I t-told you not to come, m-moron.”

“Then why did you tell me where to look for you?”

“Because I th-thought you’d maybe think better and send s-somebody else. You shouldn’t h-have intervened when there was a risk of—of personal involvement—” He groaned, his grip on Thor tightening, as his knees threatened to buckle underneath him. “Ah… I guess that’s it f-for the a-adrenaline effect or wh-whatever that was… I’m rather—rather dizzy.”

“I’m still amazed you’re still awake, not to mention standing—”

“H-honestly? So am I. But I th-think that whole s-s-staying awake and s-standing thing is about to ch-change… I may get a l-l-little embarrassing anytime n-now…”

“Oh, hush, my adorable little idiot.” Thor brought their foreheads together. “It’s okay. It’s okay now.”

“I know.” Loki smiled. “I know, m-my dear _big_ idiot. But I c-could actually use some proper m-medical attention now—”

Suddenly his eyes widened and he raised his head, pushing Thor to the side with all the strength he still had left.

Startled, Thor heard the first shot just before he whipped his head around and saw Algrim standing in the doorway.

Holding a handgun.

And, before Thor could do anything, firing two more times.

A scream tore free from Thor’s throat as he looked back at his brother; he caught Loki before he collapsed and lowered him to the floor, trying not to see the new red stains beginning to bloom on his shirt.

“No, no, no, _no, please, Loki, no—_ ”

There was another gunshot and Thor tensed, expecting a bullet to pierce his flesh, but it never came; he briefly glanced at the doorway and saw Algrim fall to the floor, and then his gaze immediately shifted back to Loki.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice shaking as he cradled Loki, who was shivering and gasping for air that didn’t seem to make it into his lungs at all; his eyes were wide open and fixed on Thor. “Please, Loki—it’s going to be fine, just stay with me, brother, please, _please—_ ”

Somebody laid their hand on his shoulder; Thor quickly looked up to see Sif by his side. Over her shoulder he caught a glimpse of several other agents entering the room.

“We’ve brought the paramedics,” Sif said. “They’ll be here in a minute.”

“Did you hear that?” Thor turned to Loki again. “I told you, you’re going to make it, it’s going to be alright…”

Loki clutched Thor’s hand with his unsteady fingers, trying to speak, but his voice was failing him; in the end, he only managed to choke out a few almost soundless words.

“ _Of—of course, b-brother—I—_ ”

He would’ve said more if he didn’t start coughing up blood.

 

* * *

 

The ride to the hospital and what had immediately followed was a blur. Having put Loki on a stretcher, the paramedics actually refused Thor to come in the ambulance, citing his current emotional state as a reason, and another agent took his place, while Sif offered to give Thor a lift.

“I should go back to Vauxhall Cross,” she admitted, “but I can’t leave you alone now.”

And she hadn’t; she waited when some of the doctors insisted on examining him at least briefly, only to conclude that physically he was perfectly fine, she stood outside the door when he tried to clean himself up in the restroom, was still with him when he was sitting on a bench in the corridor, head in hands, whispering prayers and begging Loki to stay alive, even though his brother couldn’t hear him, lying unconscious on an operating table several rooms away.

He couldn’t lose him now. It would be just so terribly _pointless._ They hadn’t just taken out Malekith and his people and survived only for Loki to die shortly afterwards. It was just plain _wrong._ It _couldn’t_ end like this. Loki _had_ to make it out of this alive.

And it wasn’t even that implausible, either. One of the former Double-O’s had once been shot not three, but _five_ times and still managed to pull through it. Granted, it still meant early retirement for him and spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair, but it was still a better option than dying.

Loki still had a chance. And he would live. He would live and they would work together again, and he would call Thor an idiot again, call him his _brother_ again, just like years before and _moments_ before, because _it was going to be alright, it_ had _to be alright_ …

Someone shook him gently and he looked up at Sif holding two paper cups.

“Here,” she said, offering him one.

“Thanks, but I think coffee is the last thing I need now—”

“That’s why I’ve got you tea.”

“Ah—thanks.” He accepted the cup and took a sip; Sif sat down next to him. “How—how long has it been going on for?”

“About half an hour, a bit more than that maybe.”

“I thought it’s been more… or less… I don’t know anymore.”

“It may only be the beginning. Things like this can go on for hours.”

Silence fell.

“I know it’s not a good moment to bring this up,” Sif said eventually, “but M is furious at you. You’re in a load of trouble—both of you, if Loki manages to—”

“Not if,” Thor interrupted. “ _When._ ”

Sif paused and then continued, “Well, anyway—you’ve got a lot to answer for. Although, since you managed to get your hands on the memory stick, they may show you some leniency… You still have it, right? The stick.”

“Malekith took it. They probably found it on him already.”

“Ah. Okay then. We—we’ll take care of it later.”

More silence.

“Thank you, Sif.”

“Don’t mention it. I only wish we could’ve made it quicker, but M was being fussy.”

“I’m glad you’ve come at all. I hope—I hope you won’t get in any trouble too because of me.”

“I don’t really think so? I mean, it probably wouldn’t have made too much of a difference whether I had tipped you off about that phone call or not… Besides, they don’t even know I had.” Her hand rested on Thor’s shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. “But I don’t worry about that. I just hope everything ends well for you two.”

He was about to thank her again, but then noticed a doctor approaching them; Thor put his cup of tea away and jumped to his feet.

“You’re Loki Odinson’s brother, yes?” The doctor’s face was a mask of professional indifference, devoid of any emotion.

“Yes,” Thor said, his mouth suddenly dry despite the tea he’d drunk, his heart beating faster. “How is he? How is it going?”

“In fact, we’re already done. The surgery is over.”

Thor frowned. “What? _Already?_ Why are you done so soon, how—please, tell me he’s okay, tell me he’s going to be okay—”

The doctor sighed. “We—we’ve done everything we could, but…”

A sudden chill spread into his bones, seeped into his veins. “But _what?_ ”

And then the world turned gray, cold and quiet, save only for the echo of the answer that kept reverberating in Thor’s ears, louder and louder, until it turned to a pained, bloodcurdling scream.

It took him a moment to realize that scream was his own.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t bring himself to go and see him, just as he couldn’t bring himself to inform their parents, and eventually asked Sif if she could do it for him.

He had no idea how much time had passed before their arrival, but it felt as if it was both a second and an eternity. He only knew that suddenly his mother was here, embracing him, and then his father, to Thor’s slight surprise, did the same, instead of just putting his hand on Thor’s shoulder as usual.

When Frigga and Odin entered the mortuary, Thor stayed outside, torn in two _._ He knew he was being childish, that the rule stating that unseen is nonexistent was nothing but a lie, but he still didn’t want to see him, _not like this_ —only that he _needed_ to, knowing that he might not have another chance.

He still wasn’t sure what he dreaded more when their parents stepped out, Frigga trembling and sobbing, while Odin had his arm draped over her shoulders, holding her close; there were no tears trailing down his face, but he looked as if he’d aged twenty years in just a few minutes. Thor couldn’t remember ever seeing them so devastated.

It suddenly dawned on him that it was probably the first time they saw Loki since almost three years before, when Loki had set foot in his family home for the last time, only to engage in one last argument with his father, accusing him of always belittling him and his skills while praising Thor to the skies, of never being satisfied with his younger son, of not seeing Loki as his _real_ son, even—and the last thing Loki said before leaving and disappearing from their lives for a year was that he was going to prove Odin wrong. To show him that he was as _worthy_ as Thor.

Before Thor even knew what he was doing, he was in the mortuary, walking towards the slab on which he could see a motionless figure, covered up to the shoulders with a thin sheet. His steps were slow and cautious, as if he was trying not to make too much noise and disturb someone’s sleep.

How he wished to fail.

But Loki would not wake anyway. His eyes would remain closed, his features too peaceful, his skin pale and his chest unmoving. Loki wouldn’t wake, because Loki was not asleep.

For a moment Thor only stood and stared, taking deep breaths and trying to comprehend what was in front of him, until he finally crumbled, tears trickling down his face as he hunched over, placing his hands on the slab.

“I’m so sorry, brother,” he choked out, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

He half-hoped Loki would respond by saying something snarky, scold him for messing up and then complain about the incompetence of the doctors who have been dumb enough to declare him deceased, but nothing like this happened.

“You—you were supposed to be _safe,_ ” Thor uttered. “You were only supposed to stay out of danger, you were supposed to _come back_ … What am I going to do now, Loki? What am I going to do _without you?_ ”

It wasn’t that he hadn’t had to go on without Loki before. Even prior to his disappearance, Loki hadn’t been always by his side and they had been spending less and less of their time together, Thor out on the job and unavailable, Loki engrossed in the world of technology, shutting himself out. Thor hadn’t even noticed when bitterness and jealous hostility began to grow inside his younger brother until he heard Loki blaming him for the way their father treated them, for being just _too perfect_ and casting a shadow too great for Loki to ever come out of, for setting an ideal that was unattainable for him, for making him appear as _never good enough._

But those times had been _different._ At least back then Thor had known he’d eventually see his brother again. Even when Loki had disappeared from his life for a year, Thor could’ve still hoped he would return. He would’ve checked his phone for messages or call his parents to ask if they had any news of Loki. Back then he hadn’t lost him for good and he could’ve waited—and later he saw that it was worth it, for Loki indeed came back, and Thor knew, just _knew_ that one day they would get along just as before, even if it was to take some time.

Back then he had had something to look forward to.

Now he had nothing.

He hesitated and finally reached out, shuddering as his hand touched Loki’s cold cheek.

“You have _always_ been worthy,” he said as firmly as he could. “I don’t know if father has ever told you that, but he _should have._ Or _I_ should.”

_Maybe if one of us had, we wouldn’t be here now._

“You are so much more, than just good enough, you are—you—you _were_ —you were so much more than I deserved, so much more than I could have ever wished for. And you—you shouldn’t have done that. You _didn’t have to do that_.”

He leaned in, kissed Loki upon his brow and allowed their foreheads to touch.

“Goodbye, Loki,” he whispered. “I will miss you so, so much. I already am.”

 

* * *

 

The funeral ceremony was a small one. They didn’t have many relatives and not all of them could’ve come, and Loki had never had many friends. In fact, Thor realized, apart from a handful of uncles and aunts and cousins, most of the people present were his parents’ friends and acquaintances, or his own.

He briefly wondered if anyone of them was here for his brother instead of having come just to express their sympathy for the ones left behind. But he preferred not to dwell on that for too long.

It turned out that Sif had been entrusted with the task of delivering a short speech on behalf of MI6—the speech very obviously not written by her, very obviously following some standard guidelines as to how such things should be handled, and very vague in order not to reveal anything that the public shouldn’t really know. It basically boiled down to saying Loki had done a great service to his country and laid down his life for it.

 _Nonsense,_ Thor thought, _he laid down his life for_ me.

But it was still actually nice of them, considering Loki hadn’t even been on duty and had actually gone against the regulations of the very organisation that was honouring him right now. Their courtesy actually went beyond that—they had been kind enough to suspend Thor from his duties for a while as a temporary punishment, thus giving him some time to grieve before calling him in to be properly chastised for having carried out an unauthorised mission.

Neither Thor nor Frigga could bring themselves to say anything and in the end Odin was the only one to step forwards and speak besides Sif. His speech, however, was very brief and addressed directly to Loki rather than the others.

“Farewell, my child,” he said, struggling to remain composed, but both his voice and his hands shook slightly as he spoke. “Know that you were always dear to me, to all of us, and I am proud of you—and I regret that I failed to let you know that.”

He then put his hand on the coffin, bowed his head and whispered something no one but him could hear before returning to his wife and son; they stood together, hugging one another tightly, as the coffin was finally lowered into the ground, and Thor thought that the worst part—as if there were any better parts of it—was over.

But when the gravediggers proceeded to fill the grave, Thor suddenly wanted to scream at them to _stop._ There, in that small wooden box, was his brother, his dearest little brother, and they were just going to leave him there, in that hole, all alone and—

_Dead. He won’t even mind it, because he’s dead_

Eventually, he couldn’t bear to look at it anymore and closed his eyes, letting himself sink deeper into Odin and Frigga’s embrace.

Maybe when he opened his eyes, he’d wake up in his bed and promptly forget the nightmare he’d been having for what seemed like few days; maybe he’d have to go back to work straight away to receive another task, maybe he’d end up needing Loki’s help again and once more they would finish the job together…

But when Thor opened his eyes, there was only a mound of dirt and a grave marker with Loki’s name on it.

And when he closed them again, the image just wouldn't go away.

 

* * *

 

Thor came to a conclusion that the five-stages-of-grief theory wasn’t exactly accurate, at least in his case. He’d gone through denial and anger, skipped bargaining for some reason, reached depression and then gone back to denial and started over again. Several times, in fact. The stages would usually change daily and sometimes come out of turn.

On some days he would try to call Loki repeatedly, only for the calls to never be answered. On other, he would boil with rage, furious at himself for not having been able to save his brother, for being in some way responsible for what had happened—and furious at the people directly involved in Loki’s death, the ancient desire of revenge calling out to him to take action until he realized that it would not help in the slightest, that revenge was no justice, and that there was no action to be taken anyway—both the mastermind and the actual killer were dead, and the survivors had been put in custody in some place unknown to him. And then there were days filled with crushing sadness, barely allowing him to move and eat, making him oblivious to everything but one horrifying fact: his brother was no longer here and nothing could possibly bring him back.

There was, however, one thing, one very specific point that all those days had in common.

“Still off duty, darling?”

Thor turned around to see Frigga, a bouquet of fresh lilies in her hands, walking up to him

“Yes, still. Hello again, mother.” He greeted her with a hug. “Did you come alone? Where’s father?”

“In the city. Had to deal with some paperwork regarding—regarding Loki’s flat. We found somebody who’d like to buy it. Students.” She placed the flowers at the recently installed marble gravestone, next to a bouquet of marigolds. “These are from you again, right?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask why it is always marigolds, Thor?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. They just look nice. I wasn’t even sure they’re called marigolds. Is there some symbolism to it?”

“There is, actually.”

“What do they represent?”

“Oh, many things. But mostly grief, as long as I remember.” She paused. “The florist told me you’ve been coming here every day.”

“I’ve had plenty of free time lately,” Thor mumbled.

She took hold of his arm, leaning against him. “It’s been almost two months, son. Don’t you think it’s time you… tried to move on a little?”

“Have _you_ tried to move on, mother?”

Frigga hesitated, her hold on Thor’s arm tightening a little.

“It’s hard,” she said eventually. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it. And your father too, though he doesn’t want to admit it. But I can see how it all has drained him. How it still does.” She started to tremble. “It should be the other way around. He should be the one present at _my_ funeral, and not—not—”

Thor embraced her before she burst into tears.

“I—I miss him s-so much,” she sobbed. “I w-want him back, I j-just—”

“So do I, mother,” Thor uttered. “So do I.”

When she finally calmed down after a while, she pulled back and took out a handkerchief form her coat pocket.

“But I’m trying,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m looking for things to be occupied with, I’m doing everything I can so my grief won’t consume me. I do miss Loki, I honour his memory, but I know he wouldn’t like to see me constantly crying for him. And I—I think that goes for you too. You said that he—that he died to save your life. Don’t spend it on constant mourning, then, and find something to do other than just grieving.”

He didn’t respond at first, his eyes turning back to the gravestone.

“That’s—that’s more or less what I’ve come to realize too,” he said in the end. “But as you said, it’s hard. And it still feels too early for me. It’ll _always_ be too early. But I think… I think it may get better soon.” He breathed deeply. “My hearing was yesterday, mother.”

“Oh. And what was the decision? If I may ask, that is.”

“Well—it had still been insubordination from my part, but I _had_ managed to do the country a favour after all… so they told me to come back to work starting tomorrow. Unless I want to resign.”

“You don’t want to, do you?”

“I don’t. You said it yourself: I need something to do. And if Loki wouldn’t like to see me continuously moping, he probably wouldn’t like to see me stepping down because of him either.”

He looked back at Frigga and managed a faint smile; she smiled back at him. Then they both just stood in silence, their eyes fixed on Loki’s grave.

All of the sudden, Frigga asked, “Do you know why Loki joined MI6?”

He looked at her, slightly surprised. “Well, I—I don’t exactly _know,_ he’s never told me… but I suspect it was to impress father somehow. To prove him that his skills were actually useful, to make father see him as my equal—”

“That covers some of his reasons… but there’s more, Thor. And I’m sorry, I’m really, really sorry—”

“Wait—what are you apologising for, mother?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you. Your father doesn’t know either. Thor, I—I met Loki several times when he was working for MI6.”

“ _What?”_ Thor stared at her in disbelief. During the last several months, Loki had kept firmly rejecting any suggestions about visiting his parents or even calling them; the very idea of getting in any form of contact with them seemed to anger him, and anytime Thor brought it up, Loki’s response was always negative, followed by a quick change of the subject. “Mother, why—why haven’t you told me?”

“Because he didn’t want me to tell you, or your father.” Frigga said, avoiding Thor’s gaze. “He contacted me one day and asked if I could meet him in a café in West End. It actually was one day before your reunion. He told me about his new job, keeping the details secret, of course, but he remarked that he would be working with you to some extent. I asked him about his reasons and he told me more or less what you just did. But… I had a feeling there was more to it. And when I asked him about it—well, it turned out I was right.” She forced himself to look at Thor. “Guess what his other reason was?”

“I—I have no idea,” Thor said.

“He wanted to keep you safe.”

He blinked, stunned into silence, before eventually managing to choke out, “He—he wanted— _what?_ ”

“I got a hint when he said something along the lines of providing you with equipment and instructions, and keeping an eye on you. He wasn’t exactly keen to admit he was concerned for you, but in the end he did. He might’ve been jealous of you, Thor, but at the same time whenever you were out there, he kept worrying about you and hoping you’d return safe and sound. Working for the same institution as you, although holding a different position, seemed a perfect solution for him; this way he could not only prove that he could also use his talents for the greater good, but also finally find out more about your job and lend you a hand.”

“What—why hasn’t he ever told me about it?”

Frigga’s brow furrowed slightly. “He said that maybe he would, but it had to wait; the same went for confronting your father again. It was just—he told me he wanted to live independently for a while, without being perceived through the lens of _you,_ and without your father’s criticism. Besides, he was still angry at you two.”

“But we worked together for nearly _two years,_ surely that was enough time for him—”

“And he said he’d been suffocating in your glory for his _whole life._ Compared to two years, that’s a lot, and you know how stubborn Loki was. He could’ve waited _ages_ for someone else to make the first step before realizing that maybe he also had something to apologise for.” She sighed. “But he would have got over it, eventually. We met again afterwards a couple of times, and I could see he _was_ slowly getting over it, although he still kept saying he wasn’t ready to fully reconcile with you and your father— _especially_ your father…”

“I—I think—” Thor began, but had to pause to swallow a lump in his throat. “I think he actually reconciled with me. Just—just before he—in his last words to me, he called me his brother. For the first time in three years.” He needed to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, but he smiled nevertheless. “So I guess that counts.”

Frigga nodded, her face brightening a little. “Yes, I think so too.”

“Do you think—do you think that he’d have reconciled with father too if he'd had the chance before—before it was too late?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he did, in his heart, but we’ll never know that. And if we can never know, then maybe it’s better to just assume the best and stop thinking about it.” She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to leave.”

“So soon?”

“I told you I’ve been trying to occupy myself with things. I’d spend more time here if I’d have managed to arrive earlier, but then I lost about twenty minutes in a traffic jam. And I promised Mrs Thornton to visit her at five o’clock and take a look at her rhododendrons… So I’ll better get going. Are you staying or…?”

“For a bit more, yes.”

“Fine, then.” She wrapped her arms around Thor. “Bye, son. And good luck tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he said, returning the embrace. “Say hello to father from me.”

She then put her hand on the gravestone and walked away; Thor watched her for a while before kneeling by the stone slab and resting his forehead against it.

“Adorable little idiot,” he murmured. “Thank you, Loki. Thank you for everything.”

He was about to leave when he heard someone gasp loudly behind him.

“Oh my goodness,” a startled female voice said, “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

He turned around to see a young woman staring at him with, embarrassment written all over her face.

“I—I didn’t want to disturb you—I mean—” She cast her eyes down. “Gosh, this is awkward—I just was lost in thought a little and I didn’t notice someone was here, I’m sorry—”

“No—it’s okay, really.” Thor stood up. “Are you—are you looking for someone? Maybe I can help?”

“Actually— _this_ is the grave I was looking for.”

“Oh.” He raised his eyebrows. “Were you, um—a friend of his?”

“Well, not exactly a friend. I used to work with him. I’m Jane Foster. Q Branch.” She held out her hand; Thor promptly shook it.

“Thor Odinson. Nice to meet you, Miss Foster.”

“I know. Oh, I mean—I know _your name,_ not that it’s nice—well—never mind. Anyway, I—I just thought I should probably visit his grave, especially that I wasn’t able to attend the funeral, and then other matters just sort of popped up…”

“Thank you for coming. I’m sure he would appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome—well, both of you. And I’m really sorry, if I knew you were still here I’d have waited a bit—”

“I’ve already said it’s not a problem.”

“Yeah… Still, these are not exactly the circumstances I wanted to introduce myself in… You see, I am—I’ve been appointed as the new Quartermaster. Or Quartermistress—or just Q. Or you may just call me Jane if you wish.”

“I think I like ‘Jane’ the most.” He smiled at her. “It has a nice ring to it. So, it would seem we’re going to work together starting tomorrow?”

“Apparently. And I promise to do my best. I hope I’ll prove myself as a worthy successor to your brother, Mr Odinson.”

“I hope so, too. And please, just call me Thor."

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to kill characters very, very rarely and you have no idea how tempted I was to keep him alive. I almost did, but in the end decided to follow the original idea.
> 
> I _did_ say sorry, though.


End file.
